


Twist of Memory

by StrivingArtist



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: FIx It, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Thorin-centric, YOU HAVE TO READ THE INSPIRATION FIRST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrivingArtist/pseuds/StrivingArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a day, an unmarked, unnoticed day, when Thorin was twenty four, when he began to have nightmares and dreams that called out to something he couldn't recall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist of Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_Will_Go_Down (ZeroToWeirdo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroToWeirdo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [One Wish, For The Better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094989) by [I_Will_Go_Down (ZeroToWeirdo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroToWeirdo/pseuds/I_Will_Go_Down). 



> I read that fic, and I had to start writing instantly. I was overwhelmed and overwrought. It had to happen.
> 
> Thanks to[Diemarysues](http://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues) for the fast beta.
> 
> **YOU MUST READ IT FIRST FOR THIS TO MAKE SENSE.**

Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, the Crown Prince of Erebor would gain a distant look and frown when a phrase was said. It was a long time before he even realized there was a connection, being but a dwarfling. It was longer still before he thought that his funny dreams might be something beyond fancy.

He was a dwarf grown before he had read enough to once again discard the thought.

Such things made no sense.

Nightmares of dragon fire and long slow desolation plaguing his people as he watched helpless were simply that. Yes, his grandfather had been lost, wandering into Moria. Yes, the grim tale had whispered at his mind as if there was something there he should know, but could not see.

He told no one that beyond the nightmares were bright dreams that overwhelmed him at times. Smiles and promises and friendship with dwarves he had never met. He told no one that hidden amongst those dreams was a face he wished he knew. It was a face that rose to mind whenever he heard the word burglar spoken. It gained him a reputation as being fierce on any that thought to steal in his mountain because he would scowl with a fury whenever the word was spoken.

Dwalin took to teasing him about it.

But Dwalin was, and always would be, a dear friend.

Some days Frerin came to find him when Thorin did not rise for their morning sparring session, and found him standing on the gates of the city, frowning and scowling. He didn’t mock him those days. Instead, he would drag him back into the mountain and force him into a room with his nephews. Or, on the days when Dwalin found Thorin standing on the walkway to the throne, looking at the Arkenstone as if it were a horror not a treasure, he would pull Thorin out of the mountain, and they would travel down to Dale.

It was well known in the royal family, and those nearest to them, that Thorin suffered from nightmares, had since he was in his twenties. But since Thorin never turned to madness as his Grandfather had, since he never was less than dedicated and invested in the betterment of his people, it was considered a quirk rather than a problem.

After all, Thorin had never seen hardship when they began.

Yes, they grew worse after Thorin’s hunting party was set upon by a troupe of orcs. Thorin slew the leader, a great white hulking beast they never knew the name of. In retaliation for that attack, and for the murder of Thror, Thrain raised an army, and slaughtered the orcs and trolls and filth living in Khazad Dum. Thorin did his part, and when, after the battle was done, the decision had to be made of how to keep the mountain, Thorin voted against it, no matter how Frerin insisted that with a small force he could retake it altogether.

There was something there they had not seen, and Thorin was certain of it. He would not risk the lives of his kin for a home they had lost so long ago.

He returned in triumph with his family, and settled into his responsibilities.

His nightmares never imposed on his life, and he tried not to think of them.

After Fili was born, Thorin had spent days quiet and reclusive, unwilling to answer questions about his behavior. After Kili was born, Thorin had gone nearly two weeks like that.

When Frerin married a bright, cheery dwarf from the Blue Mountains, Thorin had fought their father on Frerin’s behalf. He did not know why, but he had liked and trusted the miner from the Blue Mountains the moment he set eyes on him. Thrain consented, and Frerin married Bofur before the year was gone. If Thorin spent the feast with a tortured grimace behind his beard, his family was too accustomed to him to question it.

Sometimes he was like that.

Once, when a bitter winter swept over the lands, he had worried and panicked for months on end; Dis had commented that she would fret less if Vili were trapped in the weather. Thorin had ignored her, as he had ignored the twist in his chest at a thought that made no sense.

He did his work though, and every dwarf under the mountain was assured that their future would be bright when the dwarf ascended to the throne.

He would not do that until he was nearing two hundred years. He would be crowned as king under the mountain, king of the most prosperous and wealthy nation in all of Arda on the one hundred and ninety sixth anniversary of his birth. His father’s life and reign had been blessed, making peace with the elves, trading extensively with the men. There was no reason to think his reign would differ. Every councillor told him so. His family assured him of his skill and his capacity.

Still, Thorin would sometimes find himself staring at the Arkenstone, and would only realize it when Dwalin set a hand on his shoulder to find his attention. The gold that had so swayed Thror held no power of him, and Thorin had always spent it freely. It was possible the men of Dale and Esgaroth were more eager to Thorin on the throne than were the residents of Erebor.

When his father announced his intent to abdicate, well-earned at nearly three hundred years of age, Thorin had done two things that the mountain considered odd.

First, he went to the goldsmiths, and requested a new crown be designed and fashioned. He wanted something that would serve an homage to the crown of his ancestors, but that would also divide him from the past. It was request that prompted a great deal of gossip, as every mouth wagged at the question of just how much their new king intended to change. Fili and Kili had only smiled and said that they thought it was a grand idea before running off to flirt and laugh and fight with whoever they met.

Some days they dressed in simple clothes and caused havoc in the mountain. When Thorin saw them dressed like that, his heart would stutter in guilt he could not explain. Dis and her husband were the only ones to draw him from his flagellation.

The second thing he did to raise brows under the mountain was a to pen an invitation to a non-dwarf, tie it to the cleverest of the ravens, and send it off to find a wizard. They had heard of Gandalf the Grey, of course. Nearly everyone had. Old stories and poems mentioned him, and Tharkun’s adventures were exciting enough to stick in the memory of the listeners. However, he had visited the mountain in Thorin’s lifetime only twice, and Thorin had refused to meet him.

Still, it was no great calamity that he would want a wizard there. Unusual it may have been, but it was not forbidden.

So. It was a cool winter day, snow blanketed but mild when the wizard arrived. Thorin used the preparations for the coronation as an excuse, and declined to meet the wizard on his arrival. He had sent the invitation out of a certainty he had come to trust in his life. Seeing the grey hat sent a chill down his limbs though, and he was not brave enough to meet him before the crown sat rightly on his brow.

He had been acting king for years as his father slowly retreated from the public eye, but there would be a comfort in meeting Tharkun, fully vested with the power of his line.

Thorin woke from a nightmare the day of the coronation, and, not knowing what else to do with the images that assailed him, he made his way to the throne room. As the dreams so often revolved around the Arkenstone, it was only fitting that he go to it to settle his mind. It made it worse sometimes, but, that morning, it was the only answer that came to him.

He slipped through the quiet halls, knowing he was awake too soon since they were not bustling with life and noise and preparation.

Rather than the empty chamber he expected to find, there was a small figure, surely a child, on the walkway, looking up at the glow of the stone. Thorin’s boots echoed as he walked, and the figure spun, startled, and guilty looking.

Not a child. Barefoot, bare cheeked, with light hair, pointed ears and a rictus on his face.

He bowed, and Thorin inclined his head.

He should not have been there, but the sight seemed natural.

“I have never seen your kind before.” Thorin finally said when it became clear the little thing would hold his tongue.  All he got in answer was a brief shake. It did not hide the glimmer of moisture in his eyes, reflecting the pale light of the Arkenstone.

“You do not look like a burglar.” He had meant to lighten the tone. Instead the unexpected guest tensed at the same time Thorin’s own chest spasmed at a wrenching twist of memory that called to something he never would find. It sent a cacophony whirling in his ears. That word thundered and bellowed at him, begging him to find the meaning he had never found before.

“Do I look like a grocer, Thorin?”

He should have corrected the lack of honorific. He should have questioned the disrespect.

Instead he watched the way the creature -- the _hobbit_ \-- smiled. Instead, he felt his cheeks shift as he smiled like a dawning sun. His ears still roared, his head still spun, but he could not find it.

“No,” He finally answered, enraptured, struggling to find the name to attach to the half shattered thoughts he had long dismissed as real. “Do you… have an… acorn?” He faltered as glints of thought rose in his mind. He trusted them without knowing why.

The hobbit’s smile only widened. “No, I don’t. Do you recall when…?”

Thorin had to shake his head. He had images, thoughts, whispers, dreams, but nothing tangible.

“That’s fine Thorin. I’m just glad to see you.”

But it mattered to Thorin. The hobbit before him, he mattered. Not just to Thorin, but to something greater than that. He owed the hobbit a debt he could not fathom, and certainly did not know how to define. All the same, it was written in stark lines in his heart that this hobbit mattered. The pounding plea in his head grew nearly unbearable. He was rifling through every fragment of a dream he could recall. Somewhere in there, he would find the answer.

When he did, the world went quiet, and hope was blatant on the hobbit’s face.

“Bilbo?” It was a breath of a question, but it was enough. The word had been hiding in all the times he had heard the word Burglar, and had not understood why it plucked at something inside him. The name was right, and felt at home on his tongue. The tears that had balanced in Bilbo’s eyes finally fell as he nodded.

Thorin did not understand, and the sense of obligation to the hobbit only grew the longer he looked upon him, but some small piece of the mystery in his head slotted together.

Sometimes, the dwarves of Erebor would say that something changed in their Prince the day he became their King. Sometimes his family looked at him like he was a new dwarf entirely.

He did not need to tell them why. His family knew. Just as they knew that after Bilbo Baggins walked into their lives, Thorin stopped having nightmares. He still looked distant at times, but everyone knew where his mind had gone at those times.

And none of them objected.

 


End file.
